


Infected

by Vae



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-01
Updated: 2010-01-01
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:20:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/Vae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is not a hangover</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infected

**Author's Note:**

> These characters are fictional. The situation is fictional. Resemblence to real people may be inferred, but not really. No offense intended.
> 
> Birthday fic for [](http://sorchasilver.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://sorchasilver.livejournal.com/)**sorchasilver** , and entirely unbeta'd. Concrit very welcome, as are offers for a beta in this fandom!

Everyone else, it seems, got sick during the competition. Adam didn't, and he'd been feeling kind of smug about that, even if he'll never admit that. He's got a good immune system, he looks after himself, he stays healthy, it's that simple, right?

Except a few weeks after it's over, after the first crazy rush of publicity's done, before his schedule goes mad again with rehearsals for the tour and negotiations for his own album (and _that_ still doesn't seem real, amazing, but not real, his _own album_ ), he wakes up with that heaviness in his head that's something more than a hangover and he wasn't doing anything heavy last night, right?

By midmorning (okay, nearly three in the afternoon but he only woke up at midday, so that counts), it's not clearing. His head's still heavy, his face feels like someone punched him in the nose, and there's an annoying tickle in his throat that just won't quit. Even OJ stings when he tries to drink it. That's the point where he loads up with bottled water and Tylenol and retreats back to bed.

He can't even listen to his iPod, because his ears feel kind of weird. It's like listening to music underwater. (He's tried that, too, the few times he's been too lazy to get out of the tub to wash his hair, there's always music playing in the bathroom, and he'll wait for a track he doesn't love to dip his head under the water.) It does mean that he looks at his messages, though.

Shit.

Adam flips through them, ignores half of the ones from Neil, fires off a reply to his mom as quickly as his thumbs will cooperate on the pad, then deals with the ones from Kris.

_Landed kinda l8, hope u r still w8ing 4 me_

_Seriously, man, where r u? cant c u in arrivals_

_r u even here?_

After that, there's a voicemail, but what makes it worse is that Kris doesn't even sound angry with him. Of course not, nice guy Kris doesn't get angry even when his friend doesn't show at the airport to meet him. The friend he's flown in to visit because Katy's got something on with one of her girlfriends and they'd planned this and shit, shit, _shit_.

The timestamp on the voicemail's nearly half an hour ago, and Adam drops his phone twice trying to return the call, finally dropping the phone on his pillow and pressing it there with his cheek. It's gone straight to Kris' voicemail, and his heart plummets to somewhere around his knees as he croaks out apologies and pleads for Kris to call him back. Sure, pleading's not like him, but he's screwed up big this time and he just doesn't have the energy for anything else. It's what's in his heart, and that's what comes out. Even over the phone, he's never tried to hide his heart from Kris.

Okay, he's mostly never tried to hide most of his heart from Kris. Some things just wouldn't be fair.

All he can do now is hope Kris calls back, and hope that he starts feeling better really fucking fast.

~~~

Half an hour later, Kris hasn't called back, and Adam hasn't started feeling better. He's managed to get out of bed, but only as far as his couch, and he's taken the comforter with him, rucked around his shoulders. His nail polish is chipped, as well, and only partly because he's been biting his nails. Food seems like too much effort, and he turns off the TV after ten minutes of channel hopping. That's when he hears the buzzer. He considers ignoring it, because it's a whole three meters away, but there's always the chance that it's the health department come to tell him that he's got plague and he needs to evacuate the building or something, so he drags the comforter with him and shuffles over to answer it. Or press the button to open it up, anyway. "Yeah?"

"Hey, man, are you gonna let me in or something?"

Oh, fuck, Kris. Okay, kinda good, because Kris, and Kris hasn't gotten offended at him, which he really should have done, and Kris is _here_ , but on the other hand, Kris is here and Adam's got plague. "I can't."

There's a moment of silence. "Adam? C'mon, man, let me in. Are you locked in or something? This connection sounds pretty rough, just...open the door."

"You'll die." Sort of. Maybe.

"Why, have you got the entry wired for a bomb or something?"

Yeah, that one's not gonna fly. "I'm contagious," he croaks, sounding as pathetic as he can manage.

"Oh, is that...wait, Adam, not swine flu, right?"

It might be, for all Adam knows. He's not even sure what the difference is with swine flu or just flu. "Maybe? Shit." Fuck, he's disgusting, sweat coating his skin and making his fingers slide on the handset, onto the door release button, and then it's too late, he can hear the click of the door and he knows Kris well enough to know that means Kris is in the building.

Adam even considers pulling that whole Brian Kinney thing where he could run out and open the elevator, except that he can't run right now and it probably wouldn't work to stop the one in his building anyway. That and he's really not Brian Kinney. (Sometimes he's really glad of that. Sometimes he just wonders what it would be like.) Anyway, it means he can't stop the elevator, and he can't even remember if he latched his door when he got in last night.

The answer, it turns out, is not, because within two minutes, he's wrapped in one of those patent Kris Allen hugs, full body contact, warm and surprisingly solid for a man that looks that small and skinny. Adam tries to pull back, but Kris isn't about to let him, holding firm for a full minute more before stepping back, nose wrinkling, to let his bag drop to the floor. "Man, you stink."

It's true, but somehow, hearing it from Kris pulls a laugh from Adam, which breaks into a cough. "Says the guy who just came off a _plane_." He can't smell anything, but that has to be relevant, everyone stinks when they get off of airplanes.

"So I should be used to it," Kris agrees cheerfully, and gently kicks the door closed. "How long've you been sick?"

"What time is it?" Adam asks vaguely, and wrinkles his nose at Kris when he laughs.

"Okay, well, I guess at least I'm not here under false pretenses, right?" Kris pushes at Adam gently, guiding him back to the couch. "C'mon, sit down. Have you taken anything?"

"Yeah." And he still feels like crap. Less crap since Kris arrived, which doesn't make any sense unless it's the Tylenol finally taking effect, but still like crap. "Not sure when. Kris, you gotta go..." Any more protests get cut off in the coughing fit and yeah, that can stop any time soon.

Except by the time he stops, Kris is there with a fresh bottle of water and how is this man even real? No one gets to be that sweet. Maybe there's sugar in the water in Arkansas or something. He's even cracked the seal on the lid, and Adam sips at it gratefully. "Seriously. I'm not gonna get you sick."

"That's okay, then." Kris grins at him, perched on the arm of the couch, knees splayed wide, leaning forwards for balance. "I'm not gonna go anywhere, man, so suck it up."

Adam can't even raise the energy for go for the innuendo in that, though an arched eyebrow indicates that he's noticed it. "Bitch."

"You know it," Kris says brightly. "Are you gonna fall over if you stand in the shower?"

Good question. Adam considers it for a moment, because the whole thought of a shower makes him feel even more tired, legs heavy, but there's the blissful thought of being _clean_ again. "Gonna come hold me up if I say no?"

Kris laughs, and shakes his head. "You wish. Go on, wash off the stink, I'mma be right here."

That's more incentive not to go anywhere, but Adam gets up, comforter still wrapped around him, and that's when it hits him. He's got make-up smeared over his face still from last night, his hair's a mess, and he's wearing....okay, right, he did manage to get his old sweats on as well as the comforter. And now, right now, is the first time he's even thought about his appearance since Kris buzzed his intercom. That's _unheard_ of. He pauses, shuffles around, and looks back at Kris.

Kris is still grinning up at him, still balanced on the end of the couch. "You're not getting any sweeter," he warns.

Yeah, Adam thinks. But Kris still is. 


End file.
